Sketchbook
by Aerlalaith
Summary: Elrond has summoned Aragorn to his study in order to give him Gilraen's old sketchbook. What he doesn't know is the wealth of blackmail material said book may contain.


Disclaimer: I don't own any characters from The Lord of the Rings, or the book itself. In fact, I own nothing.

**Sketchbook**

"And here it is, Aragorn. The sketchbook your mother held so dear. She would have wanted you to have it. Go on, take it." Lord Elrond held out the small leather bound book to the one he called foster son. Aragorn's hands shook as he took it.

"But Ada, parchment is so valuable. How could she have come by this?" He asked, saying the first question that sprung to his mind. A few moments later, he wished he had learned to hold his tongue by now. _I have the ability to be close mouthed among rangers! Why not among elves?_

Elrond fixed the unfortunate other with a glare, and said reprovingly, "As I am _sure_ you are well aware, she lived in Imladris after your father's demise. With you! I might add." Putting the 'Affronted Elf Lord' look into his expression, he added. "Do you _really _think we had difficulty supplying her with parchment?"

A blush tinged Aragorn's cheeks. "I . . . er, no Ada. I suppose you didn't."

Lord Elrond held his gaze for a moment, before turning around and telling Glorfindel to enter.

Glorfindel (who Aragorn hadn't even known was there before Elrond spoke to him), strode in, and leisurely spread himself across a chair. Aragorn, glancing between the peredhel and the balrog slayer, was hard put not to laugh.

Elrond, sat straight in his chair, hands neatly folded across his lap. Glorfindel, on the other hand, had virtually melted into all possible cracks and crevasses that said chair offered. His hair was loose, and a few pages of what Aragorn presumed were reports, dangled loosely in his in his hands.

Aragorn was still struggling to keep a straight face, and was relieved when Glorfindel shifted into a more normal position.

He didn't remain relieved for very long, of course.

"Estel!" Exclaimed the seneschal, using Aragorn's elvish name. "It has been a long time since I saw you last." Then his mood grew somber. "I was very sorry to hear about your mother. She was a good woman, and I know she would have been proud of you."

"I- thank you, Lord Glorfindel. It has sorrowed me as well, and I was not there at her passing."

"Aye, so I heard. And how many times must I tell you that I object to you calling me 'Lord'? I don't mind it when there are puny mortals or -- valar forbid -- _dwarves_, running about that need an intimidating impression. But having you say it makes me sound so . . . old."

Aragorn was so busy trying to refrain from telling Glorfindel that he was, actually considered among the elderly of the world, that he missed the quick speaking balrog slayer's next question.

"Also, I . . . . . What is that you clasp in your hands?"

There was a pause, while both Elves stared at Aragorn, who wasn't paying attention to either of the others (being engrossed in the fascinating patterns upon the ceiling).

"I . . . huh?"

Elrond sighed. "Tis Gilraen's sketchbook, mellon nin. I have given it to him."

"Ah! I remember her writing and drawing in that book. A fair enough artist for one who had yet to study the craft. Have you looked at it?"

"Er, no, not really."

There was a second pause. This time, it was longer as the two immortals once again gazed at Aragorn expectantly. It was Glorfindel (as usual) who broke the silence.

"Well?" Said he.

"Well what?"

"Well, are you going to open it or stand like a fool all day with your head in the clouds?"

"I'll open it." Aragorn said hastily. He turned, walked over to Lord Elrond's desk, placed the book upon it and opened the first page.

Glorfindel immediately jumped from the chair, and started peering over Aragorn's shoulder as he flipped the pages. "Aha! I remember this one! No, go back a few -- no, forward three -- perfect.

Aragorn's eyebrows drew together, and he bent down to look at the drawing. It was one of a little boy, who seemed to be sitting in a handwashing basin. Aragorn saw that there was a label on the bottom of the page, and squinted. It read, 'Estel's first bath in Imladris.'

Oh no.

Glorfindel's eyes gleamed, and Aragorn groaned.

"Tis interesting," said the balrog slayer. "That Estel's first bath is such a memorable occasion."

"Glorfindel . . . ." Aragorn said warningly.

"I find it amusing that most of his baths since that first one, followed the same pattern. Generally because they were so infrequent it was always a miracle when one occurred."

"Glorfindel! I do _not_ bathe infrequently!"

"Estel, I believe the correct wording was 'I do not bathe'."

Aragorn sputtered, and started muttering incoherently.

"It is nothing to be ashamed of, Estel. You are one of the Dúnadan. It comes naturally to your people."

"_It comes naturally to-- I grew up in this house! Do you **think** Lord Elrond would permit a smelly human to run amok?"_

"Well, actually . . . ." Elrond began, smirking.

Aragorn shot him a murderous glare.

"But I'm not really sure what it was that made this particular bath so worth remembering." Begun Glorfindel, attempting to sound thoughtful. "It could have been when you escaped and ran naked through The Last Homely House. But you did that so often, it was nothing remarkable, really. No, what I think what made it memorable is that you managed to streak the entire Hall of Fire."

"I did not!"

"You most certainly did." Chuckled Elrond. "Lindir can testify."

Aragorn threw him a disgusted look, and continued to thumb through the book, peering at pictures of waterfalls, trees, the twins with their bows, more trees, Glorfindel posing naked -- wait . . . _What?_ Aragorn choked."Lord Glorfindel . . . ."

"Yes?"

"Is this . . . you?"

"Is what me?"

"This sketch."

"What sket- _Ai Elbereth_! _Put that away_!"

"What, this?" Aragorn waved it in front of Glorfindel's nose.

"Yes _that_! _What else_?" He blinked, "no, wait, don't answer that."

"So, my Lord Glorfindel. Care to tell us anything?" Aragorn asked carefully.

"No." Glorfindel replied flatly.

"But-"

"I understand, mellon nin, that you wish to keep your business private." Elrond said, cutting Aragorn off. "But you must inform me if anything . . . happened between the two of you."

"_Elrond Peredhil! Of course not!"_

"Then _why_ is there a naked sketch of you inside my mother's book?" Aragorn asked, pointedly.

"Well, I . . . er, I kind of . . . er I."

"_Glorfindel!"_

"Yes, Lord Elrond?" Glorfindel asked meekly.

"_Get to the point!"_

"Well, I . . . . Asked her to draw it for me." He said quickly, turning a vibrant shade of magenta.

Aragorn stared at him, as Elrond's jaw dropped. "You asked a mortal to do a nude portrait of you when there are thousands of elvish artists who would have been _more_ then happy to do so?"

"Um, yes?"

"I don't believe this!" Elrond said, throwing his hands up into the air.

"I am assured that my mother was a good artist!" Aragorn said, feeling a need to defend the family honor.

"By the valar, _why_ would you do such a thing?"

"I needed a nude picture, and I could count on her indiscretion! It was actually a rather smart idea! No one knew before now!" He pursed his lips, and looked the picture over carefully. "And I must say that it did turn out rather well."

The Peredhel and the Dúnadan stared at him in disbelief.

"What?" Glorfindel asked, looking at them in return.

Elrond passed a hand over his eyes and said tiredly, "Aragorn, the sketchbook."

"Forgive me, Ada, but I thought it was mine to keep, in memory of Gilraen"

"It _was_. But now that I have discovered it's incredible load of blackmail material. One which surpasses that of even the twins, perhaps it is best if it remains in it's previous location. Give me the sketchbook, and we can add it onto the list of items you receive if you somehow manage to become the king of Gondor and Anor."

"But Ada-"

"_Now_, Estel." Elrond's face took on a dangerous tint, and Aragorn grudgingly handed the book over. Elrond received it with thanks as the two elven lords rose out of their seats, and walked out of the study. Aragorn could hear part of their conversation as they faded from view.

"Glorfindel, you never told me exactly the reasoning behind this nude sketch of yours . . . ."

Aragorn shook his head. Glorfindel would probably be teased with that for the next few centuries. In a surge of pity, he wondered if he should have told the balrog slayer of the next page, which contained an interesting drawing of Elrond wearing a peasant skirt, and a bonnet.

An image of Elrond's face, and the music coming from the Hall of Fire, convinced him that life would be much better if he left it as it was.

**ELVISH TRANSLATIONS:**

Mellon nin = My friend

A/N just a little drabble that came over me during a scrapbooking class. Constructive criticism would be very, **very** welcome.


End file.
